My life as a spy - January 2006

Just how long does it take to forget having a gun drawn on you? Apparently somewhere between a day and 4 months, because by January some guy named Tomás who got the jump on me when I wasn't ready was a forgotten memory. That is until he got the jump on me again at my gym. I hadn't ask anyone for a spot on the bench, but Tomás took it upon himself to be helpful that day. After I got up, my first instinct was to punch him, but after thinking about what happened last time, I decided I'd hear him out one last time.

Once we got in the steam room, he started going on about this matter of "national security" that his "company" needed my help with. He kept blabbering, but the more he talked, the more he sounded like a cheap remake of some spy movie. I told him that I had enough, and got up to leave. Before my right hand completely wrapped around the door handle, he said 4 simple words, "Think about the money." My right hand dropped to my side as I turned and faced my would be employer. So how much money does it take for a person to want to risk their life for an unknown reason...somewhere around $100,000, because when Tomás said that number, the only thing I could say was, "When do we leave?" A hundred grand may not sound worth risking your neck for, but when you're 19 years old, $100,000 is a key to cars, clothes, and girls.

The next day, I met Tomás at noon at Peachtree Plaza and we took off in a black Lexus. Tomás offered me a glass of champagne to "celebrate" as he put it, but sometime later, he was waking me up. The funniest part about it was that we were in another gym. Not like the one I went to, but about the same kind of set up. I joked with him by asking if this was where I'd learn kung fu and all of that, but he just smiled and said kung fu was for Hollywood. The next thing I know, this tall, lanky middle eastern guy comes out. He said his name was Amzi and then he started talking about something called Krav Maga. When I asked him if was lethal, he smiled, and then took me down with one kick and a punch. He said he could teach it to me, so I asked him when we would get started. "Right now." he replied.

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My life as a spy - September 2005

I haven't always been a writer, but ever since I was a little boy, there's always been a part of me that's wanted to save the world. I didn't get that opportunity to try until I was 18 years old. To this day, there's still some things that my company won't let me talk about, then there are things that I've forgotten as they've become jumbled thoughts in my head, but for everything that I can talk about and remember, I will.

I remember it was a cloudy morning on campus at Morehouse that September day, and for some reason I felt a chill in the air. I couldn't quite place my finger on why it was cold and what was weirder was the fact that I felt like I was being watched. My dad always used to call me paranoid so I tried to shrug off the feeling, but it just kept nagging at me. Around 3 o'clock, I promised myself that I would never ignore my gut again because that's when I met him.

He approached me as I was coming out of the library and told me that he needed to have a word with me. At first, I protested, but the black Beretta 92FS he flashed under his jacket quickly changed my mind about a quick getaway. Once we got to a secluded area, the man with the gun became Mr. Chatty Cathy. He called himself Tomás and told me that the people he represented had work for me. I told him I already had a job, and that's when he sucker punched me, and whipped out his gun.

Fancy parlor tricks or not, I told him I don't work for guys like him, and that's when he gave me a bio of my life. He started naming off the charges for pickpocketing, aiding and abetting, grand theft auto, and resisting arrest that I racked up from 11-17. I told him that wasn't my life anymore and he blabbered off my new life and how my 3.5 GPA, 1450 SAT score and a little computer hacking got me into Morehouse in the first place. This guy was really starting to piss me off, but it's hard to argue with a man holding a gun. I asked him what he wanted and he threw a card at me and said he'll be in touch.

If you like what you're reading and want me to keep telling my story, just type yes in the comments...if you don't want to read anymore...forget what you've already read